A few years back, I was inspired by this post, to make this cake. Except that I was distracted. And I made the buttermilk per the recipe’s notes section, and I added it all. All. Despite the fact that the recipe called for half. Luckily, Deb takes amazing process photos, so I could tell by how the batter looked that something was wrong. So I added some flour, and some more, and some more, until the consistency was just right. And you know what? It was amazing. the perfect, crumbly, not too sweet cake with a hint of berry tartness. A very delicious mistake.

Since then I’ve deliberately repeated the mistake, and adapted it to fit my slightly crunchier taste–substituting turbinado and some whole wheat flour for the white sugar and flour. With berries or peaches in the summer, and apples in the fall, every time I make it, it does not disappoint.

This week, this charming young man turned four. Four is such an amazing time: every day he makes new connections, and piece by piece constructs the rules of his world. Play can be nuanced and full of imagination, or it can be very black and white. One moment the world is full of mystery and lightness, and the next moment things are incredibly frustrating to figure out… But he marches on, sometimes timid, but undeterred.

May you always be as full of wonder, awe, trust, and curiosity as you are now. Happy Birthday little love!

When you unpack a marriage, untangle and unwind all the bits you’ve woven over ten years, you’re bound to hit a snag. A year ago, as I was packing up the house, selling off the baggage of my old life, and sifting through the physical manifestation the relationship, I had no idea how much lighter I would feel a year later.

Things here have been good for the most part, settled, at least, in this beautiful place we are now privileged to call home. But I found that the more I dug in to this writing exercise, looking for moments to share and distill, the more it hurt. There were layers I had pushed back far far away, while living in survival mode. It’s amazing how a simple writing practice can get at those pain points. The one thing I’ve learned this year, has been to listen to those feelings, and so, a week in, I realized I just wasn’t ready to go on writing. I needed to sit quietly, for just a little longer, before I took the feelings on.

As Alice Hoffman said in the opening to the original article that inspired all of this, “Our lives often appear to be moving in one direction, and then, quite suddenly, a door opens and everything changes. A possibility arises, we daydream, we take a chance, we allow ourselves to feel joy. What’s on the other side of the open door becomes the moment that defines us and charts a new path. It could be almost anything. Suddenly we stop and make a turn. We imagine something completely different for ourselves. Something we never expected.”

So friend, if you are walking that same path I am, or rebuilding a life when you least expected it, I have this wish for you: I hope you can let go enough to let yourself feel joy. And I hope you are kind to yourself, for through that kindness you will find all the strength you need. It’s right there, inside you.

It’s July 4th, hot and sticky. You’re late, due date was last week. Morning, I walked laps in an air conditioned store encouraging you to move. Come dinnertime, you announce your arrival, and three blocks later, leap into the world.

Sometimes, it’s others’ words that take you back. A taste, the rain, a moment past. Not much for looking back, I fear. Too many souls to miss.
This space I’m in, precarious and still, reflecting brightness in the storm.

He reminded me we had had that exact conversation twelve months earlier. Somehow, I had gotten myself so tangled up, I no longer felt the passing of time, as it came rushing by me. And here, I found myself, unraveled.

My children’s circadian rhythms are baffling. Most days, they are up with the sun, rearing to go. Every night, they fight sleep ferociously. Yet once in a while, there are surprising mornings of an overwhelmingly deep and uninterruptable sleep… always Mondays.